(May 1, 2011 at 2:35 pm)fr0d0 Wrote: IMO, What they're missing is your personal choice to believe what you must: Without the choice there can be no belief.
Yeah, it seems to me they are unwilling to sever the tie between their beliefs and what they think I should believe. My only sister, by contrast, is evangelical as well and never moved out of her hometown. I am, in their eyes, the prodigal son I suppose. Except, like Thomas Wolfe, I can't go home again (spiritually speaking).
(May 1, 2011 at 2:35 pm)fr0d0 Wrote: I feel sorry for them. You sound like you're a credit to them. You're a family of very nice people. I think you've reached a point where parental influence isn't going to cut it, and they haven't realized that yet.
I hope they do realize it, but I'm not sure. They are very nice people. Nice to a fault. That's why it pains me a bit to hurt them, but as I must try to get through to them, I simply can't make myself believe.
Our Daily Train blog at jeremystyron.com
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We have lingered in the chambers of the sea | By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown | Till human voices wake us, and we drown. — T.S. Eliot
"... man always has to decide for himself in the darkness, that he must want beyond what he knows. ..." — Simone de Beauvoir
"As if that blind rage had washed me clean, rid me of hope; for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself—so like a brother, really—I felt that I had been happy and that I was happy again." — Albert Camus, "The Stranger"
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We have lingered in the chambers of the sea | By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown | Till human voices wake us, and we drown. — T.S. Eliot
"... man always has to decide for himself in the darkness, that he must want beyond what he knows. ..." — Simone de Beauvoir
"As if that blind rage had washed me clean, rid me of hope; for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, I opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. Finding it so much like myself—so like a brother, really—I felt that I had been happy and that I was happy again." — Albert Camus, "The Stranger"
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